


Remembrance

by Verunme



Category: The Legend of Zelda, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Genre: F/M, Poor hero is tired, The end is creepier than I wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5147999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verunme/pseuds/Verunme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot set a few days after Zelda suspends herself in time during Skyward Sword.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted... 4 years ago on FF.net? Figured I'd put the few of my old fics I actually like on AO3.
> 
> That's cheesy, but I wrote the whole fic while listening to "Message from the Goddess" from Skyward Sword, and I feel like it really does add to the ambiance, so go play it on Youtube while reading if you can.

His boots were raising small clouds of dust at every step he took under the starry night sky of Skyloft. Walking through the cold air, he could feel the soft breeze weaving its way through his hair and under his hat as he made his way towards the Knight’s Academy.

He did not walk with haste, for he did need some time to think. That last hour had been rather emotional for him. He had not really expected Peatrice to actually admit any feelings toward him… And even less expected to have to tell her that those were not shared. He was truly saddened by her plight, for he knew that love could be wonderful and terrible at the same time. She was so kindhearted, so full of joy; he ached at the pain he caused to her.

But his heart lied somewhere else. Away from Skyloft, somewhere below the clouds, near that large column of emerald light. Frozen through time to hold darkness at bay.

He climbed the stairs leading away from the bazaar and to the Goddess’s Isle, although he veered left. Seeing Pipit walking around the Sparring Hall, the lone walker hastened himself to the doors of the school, for he did not feel any desire to talk at the time. He wanted to stay alone with himself.

Extending his hand, he went for the doorknob. It refused to turn, denying the lonely hero access to a much merited sleep. He thought about going down the pile of crates and make it to the door of the first floor, but then both the night guard and the old lady that, judging from the lights in the windows of the building, still occupied the kitchen, would be likely to see him.

Raising his eyes upwards, seeking an idea about where he could go without someone noticing, he saw small filaments of steam coming out of the roof. That would be his way to a much needed rest. Thinking it would give him a good exercise before slipping to dreams, he started scaling the south wall, grabbing ledges and climbing vines.

Once on the top, he was temporarily disheartened at the height of his only hope of going to bed unnoticed. He retook hope when he noticed the way the interior of the chimney’s top was made. Those crisscrossing bars of metal would make for a perfect grappling point.

As soon as he had made his way inside, he had to hide himself, for the headmaster was in the bath below the grid, and would surely wonder why the young man was standing up there.

Letting himself slide to the ground, the Chosen Hero crawled into the small air vents. He planned on going to the headmaster’s office that way, knowing there would be no one there.

The stealthy intruder encountered a problem soon enough. A hole through the tunnel was not blocked by the usual grids. Peeking inside, he could make out just enough of the room to see it was empty.

Dropping on the floor, his reflexes gained by both training and experience forced him to spin around and quickly assess the room. He was shocked as he realized he now stood in Her room.

Closing his eyes, he softly uttered the name of the crystallized girl he had known for so long.  
So many years they had spent together, and it showed wherever he looked.

On her desk, right next to an open book stood a row of wooden sculptures he had made just for her. Those were his finest, for he had put all he had to make them perfect. There was one for every of her birthdays since he had taken on that hobby. A few birds, some people, even a fountain. He knew that below him, in his own sanctuary, under his bed and hidden between two pillows, was the newborn of that series, the one he intended on giving her at the day she would turn a year older.

Such a simple, yet meaningful shape.

A heart.

Of course, it would have been too easy of a work for him, had he not carved their names of it, along with a stylized bird similar to those drawings the blonde girl loved to make while watching the academy’s senior students fly around the floating isles.

His weary gaze turned to the shelves on his right. Striding silently in that direction, he went for the lowest part of the furniture, knowing where to look. He had seen her take this sketch book so many times he could tell every detail about it. The fifth page was corrugated because he had spilled coffee on it by accident three months before. The back cover was scratched by her Loftwing, Cloudweaver, when the brave animal plunged nearly to the cloud barrier to catch it when it slipped from the young woman’s hands five weeks earlier.

Turning the pages carefully, he inspected every single image. She was so much talented he almost felt like those butterflies in the middle were really going to start flying around.

He blinked several times, trying in vain to chase the tears welling up under his eyes at the sight of that last picture. It was one she had made two days before that tornado took her.

It was him, sitting on his own bed, carving another statuette. He could remember how panicked he was when she sat on the ground. He was sure she would see the gift he wanted to make to her.

She didn’t, luckily for him, so focused she was on her work. She rarely painted, most of the time she used pencils so sketch things.

He ran his finger along the representation of his own face, wondering if she had represented him accurately or if that light flowing over his face was her own interpretation of the moment.

Smiling softly as he remembered her asking him if he thought it was nice (and his own answer, sincerely saying it was beautiful, but secretly thinking it would be better had she been on it), he closed the book, and put it back in its placed.

He held back a yawn, hoping to make as few noises as possible.

Moving towards the bed, he grabbed one of her cushions. The big one she leaned on when drawing. Holding it at the length of his arms, he stood immobile for a moment.

Lifting the soft material towards his head, he buried his face in it. Taking a deep respiration, the man all saw as a paragon of tenacity and unwavering will broke into tears. Falling to his knees, he closed his eyes, waiting for the sobs to finally stop. He did not mind the cuts, he did not mind the bruises, and he did not mind any of the physical pain. But the mere distance between them was like a searing, white-hot blade piercing his heart at every second. He missed her so much.

Days ago they had been nothing but a meter away from one another. Separated by a necessary but terrible layer of beautiful yet frightening amber crystal.

Rising on his feet again, the heartbroken hero pulled off his equipment, placing it next to the bed as softly as possible, as if not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere of the room. He slipped under the covers and breathed deep the smell of her loved friend. He closed his eyes, remembering the promise he had made to her. A promise he intended, with all his might, all his power, to keep.

“I will wake you up Zel, this time it’s my turn.”

The man chosen by Her Grace to become the Hero who would see Demise’s end drifted to sleep, only to gain the strength he would need to keep his word.

**Author's Note:**

> Man the end is creepy as hell. I was weird back in 2011. Oh well, not going to change it now, or I'll end up rewriting the whole thing. I didn't even reread most of it, only adapted the spacing.


End file.
